Julian Stockwin - Command

He saw Stirk approaching. With a grin that could best be described as huge, he said, "Ready t' scale the guns, sir."

Kydd smothered an answering smile. "Carry on, Mr Stirk."

The six-pounders had been in store at the arsenal long enough for rust to form in the bores and scaling by dry firing would scour them clear. Soon the flat blang of the reduced charges sounded along the deck.

He looked across at Dacres. "You have th' ship. Course east b' south, all plain sail."

As simple as that! He brightened at the thought of never having to stand a watch again, instead taking charge or handing over whenever he felt inclined. "Aye aye, sir," Dacres murmured, and went to the conn.

Kydd knew he should go below and start on the work that was waiting in neat piles on his desk but it was too exhilarating on deck with the regular heave of the waves under the keel and their stately move forward, the boundless blue expanse of sea, flecked with white under a perfect Mediterranean sun.

The log was cast and the result pegged on the traverse board: nine and a half knots. Given the lateness in the day, he would leave until tomorrow the agreeable task of exploring Teazer's sailing qualities and quirks to bring out the best in her. The southerly was veering more to the west but holding steady—they should have a soldier's wind in the morning.

Eight bells, the first dog-watch. The decks cleared as men went below for grog and their supper. It would be a cheerful conclusion to the day for them and Kydd could picture the jollity as they settled in with new chums, shipmates who would share with them the dangers aloft and in the fighting for their lives. The talk would be of their new ship, the calibre of their officers, their prospects for their voyaging and, the most important topic of all, their new captain.

Alone on deck but for the lookouts and the small group at the helm, Kydd felt even more the peculiar isolation of his position, the utter absence of any he could relax with in the same way. This was the hidden price for the fulfilment of his ambitions. In the gathering dusk he became aware of the flash of eyes in the cluster by the helm: they were affronted by the captain's continued presence on deck, his implied lack of trust in them. Kydd turned and went below.

"Oh, sir," said Tysoe reprovingly, "you never sent word. Your supper is no longer hot. Shall I tell the steward—"

His cabin table was spread. "No, thank 'ee," Kydd said: the galley fire was probably out by now. He had forgotten the behind-the-scenes activity that accompanied even the smallest domestic want of the captain. "Open a claret an' I'll take a glass. The rest t' go to the midshipmen's berth." The small gesture might help to allay the anxieties of the two new faces going to sea for the first time, perhaps even hinting that their captain was of the human species.

He sat alone by the light of a candle, chewing tepid cutlets and sad greens, feeling by turns dispirited and exalted. Hammocks were piped down—he had ordered that for tonight going to quarters could be overlooked—and the watch below turned in. After Tysoe had cleared away, Kydd pulled over the pile of papers and set to. A knock on the door an hour or so later interrupted his concentration. It was Laffin, with the thick-set figure of another seaman in the shadows behind carrying a dim lanthorn.

"Sir. Galley fire doused, lights are out fore 'n' aft, two inches in th' well, no men in bilboes," Laffin said impassively. As a boatswain's mate in a sloop he took the duties of a master-at-arms, which included ship's security.

"Thank ye, Laffin," Kydd said. These reports, made to him as captain, allowed the silent hours officially to begin.

"Er, do you . . ." For some reason he was reluctant to let Laffin go. ". . . go an' prove the lookouts," he finished lamely.

"Aye aye, sir," the seaman said stolidly.

Kydd put aside the paperwork and retired for the night, but he lay awake in his cot, mind racing as he reviewed the day, senses jerked to full alert by every unknown noise in the new ship, then lulled as his seaman's ear resolved them into patterns falling in with the regular motions of the invisible ocean.

The wind had freshened in the night and the morning dawned bright and boisterous, white horses on a following deep blue sea. Teazer's sturdy bowsprit rose and fell. Kydd was concerned to notice the foredeck flood several times, even in these moderate conditions, the water sluicing aft before it was shed to the scup-pers—with the working of the vessel's seams this would translate into wet hammocks for those below.

He heard a tinny sound above the sea noises: a young sailor at the main hatchway was enthusiastically beating away at an odd-looking small drum, breaking into the ordered calm of the early morning.

"Wha—"

"Quarters, sir," said Bowden, hiding a smile. As master's mate, he was taking watches opposite Dacres and had the deck. Kydd wondered at his confidence: he remembered his own first watch on deck as an officer and the nervous apprehension he had felt.

But that drum would have to go: the martial thunder of Tenacious's marine drums left no doubt about their purpose— the men to close up at their guns to meet the dawn prepared for what the new day would reveal.

With no enemy sail sighted, quarters were stood down, hammocks piped up and the men went to breakfast. There was no need for Kydd to remain on deck but he found it hard to stand aside from the routine working of the ship. He had been an intimate part of it since he had first gone to sea, and particularly since he had become an officer.

He turned abruptly and went below to his cabin. If he chose, there was nothing to stop him remaining in the comforts of his great cabin for the entire day—but then he would not know what was going on on deck. "Thank ye, Tysoe," he said, as the man brought in coffee. As routines became evident Kydd's needs were being intelligently anticipated: Kydd blessed his choice those years ago of Tysoe as servant.

An unexpected surge of contentment surfaced as he gazed through his stern windows at the swelling seas. Teazer had a pleasing motion, predictable and rarely hesitating—that was the sign of sea-kindliness: neither crank nor tender, she would lean before the buffets of wind and sea and smoothly return to a stable uprightness.

Today he would discover more of his men and his ship. Dacres was the most imperative task: he was the entire officer corps of Teazer and, in practical terms, a deputy-captain. Kydd needed a right-hand man—but, more than that, someone he could confide in, trust, one with whom he could not only mull over ideas and plans but whom he could place in hazardous situations and discover how far he could rely on him. The trouble was that Dacres's studiously polite but reserved manner made him difficult to approach.

As he finished his coffee, the thumping of bare feet sounded loud on the deckhead above. It would be the afterguard racing across the top of his cabin to the cro'jack braces, which, as in all Navy ships, were crossed and led aft. He longed to know why they were being tended but forced himself to stay seated. Then the ship heeled to larboard for a space before returning. It was too much. He left his cabin, just remembering his hat, and bounded on deck. A quick glance at the binnacle and out over the exuberant seas told him, however, that all was well. He saw Dacres steadying himself by the weather main shrouds and looking fixedly forward.

At Kydd's appearance, Dacres moved to leeward, as was the custom. Kydd asked him, "How does she go for ye, Mr Dacres?"

Dacres glanced at him briefly, his pale face taut, then hastily looked away without speaking.

Kydd frowned. "I said, how is she, Mr Dacres?"